Children of Hope (66 page)

“His what? I must have misheard.” Tolliver favored me with a dark scowl. “Very well, let’s discuss it openly. Say they go further and persuade Kenzig to order you groundside for trial?”

“If the order came from Admiralty, I’d comply, of course.”

“I salute your yen for martyrdom. Have you considered Randy and Corrine?”

“Randy can live without me.” Fath shot me a glance as if daring me to say otherwise.

“Nick, for God’s …” Mr Tolliver took a deep breath. “What if they order
him
groundside for execution? He killed Scanlen’s deacons, and the Bishop’s not a forgiving sort. When you’re no longer Captain, he’ll be beyond your protection. And you think they’ll forget Corrine?”

“Let it be.” Fath’s voice was sharp.

“Sir, it won’t go away by not thinking of it.”

Fath’s expression was more than vexed. I braced for an explosion. Instead, he cried, “What do you want of me?” He shot to his feet, paced with anguished vigor. “Yes, by trying to make peace with the aliens, I risk those I love.
I KNOW
!” A turn, a few awkward paces. “Moreover, I risk
Olympiad,
and the life of every soul aboard. It’s what I do, always—” His tone dripped contempt. “—with good cause.”

Uneasily, I climbed off my bunk.

“Often I get away with it, Edgar. But I gambled with
Galactic,
and lost. Bing, mark off Arlene. Oh, well. Bing, Derek Carr. Bing, a thousand others. You recall
Trafalgar,
and the cadets I lured to their doom? Bing, bing, bing!” He threw up his hands. “I’m an angel of death. I put the lives of those I cherish in harm’s way. Sometimes, I lose. Or rather, they lose!”

Tolliver pushed me aside, grabbed the bottle and a glass, poured a generous swig. He handed it to Fath.

“Can you possibly think, Edgar, that liquor will comfort me?” Fath’s tone was bleak.

“Sir …” Tolliver sounded gentle. “We’ve been down that road. You did what must be done.” Again, he proffered the glass.

“So, would you have me abandon our talks with Harry? Never in history have men and aliens spoken together. The moment must be seized.” Fath took a reluctant sip, set the glass aside.

“Sir, what if it takes a month? Or three?”

Fath was silent.

“Say three full months pass. We might still seem a mere week from a breakthrough. We also have a duty to Admiralty, to our passengers and those who await us at Kall’s Planet. When is enough?”

Fath turned to me. “He imagines that because I’m Captain, I have answers.”

Tolliver shook his head. “No, I too have been Captain. You don’t have solutions, Nick, merely the responsibility to provide them.”

I cleared my throat. “What if …”

“Stay out of it, joey.” Tolliver cocked a warning finger.

Who the hell was
he
to … No, don’t aggravate Fath! Not now. “Sir, please!” I shifted from foot to foot, until Tolliver gave a reluctant nod. “What if …” I tried not to gesture with my mechanical arm; I was supposed to keep it still, “What if we told Harry to meet us elsewhere?” Silence. “Why do we have to talk
here
?”

Fath frowned. “How could we communicate where …”

“We have words for Fuse, and we’re finally pinning down time. We think we agree on ‘now’: the second hand at twelve. All we need is the place. For example, home system would be ‘Fuse months hundreds of dead fish, dozens of dead ships.’”

Tolliver said, “That describes Hope Nation as well as home.” Of course. Fath had obliterated hundreds of fish by nuking Orbit Station, after the fish had taken out a third of the U.N. fleet.

Stubbornly, I shook my head. “Not if we preface it with ‘Fuse.’ That clearly implies going somewhere else, and other than here, only home system fought all-out battles.”

Fath’s tone was sharp. “Madness! We will
not
summon fish to home system!” He paced anew. “Admiralty would try me for treason, and rightly. How could we ever trust the fish not to renew the war?”

“You trust them here.”

“This is only Hope …” After a time, he swallowed. “I’m sorry, son. A stupid thought. I trust them here because we met here. I have little choice.”

The caller buzzed.

Fath sighed. “Now what?” He keyed it. “Seafort … He what? Good Lord. Just a moment.” He keyed it off. “Edgar, it’s Chris Dakko, from the Station. He’s seeking asylum.”

Despite my begging, they wouldn’t let me go along. I suppose they were right, not that I’d ever admit it. My prosth graft was too recent, and suppose it flared up while I was en route?

Mikhael got to pilot the launch and dock it at the Station lock. Any middy yearned for the rare opportunity to sail a ship’s launch. I didn’t know why the privilege was so closely guarded; after all, it was good training. When Fath asked the first middy’s recommendation of whom to send, Mik unhesitatingly proposed himself. Fath didn’t seem surprised.

I wondered if Mr Dakko knew the dissension his arrival had generated. Tolliver had objected strenuously. “Sir, he passionately hates the aliens.”

“With good cause. We’ll post guards.”

“Better not to let him aboard.”

“He’s an old shipmate in adversity,” said Fath. “And, Lord, the debt we owe him …” But Fath was wrong. I, more than he, bore the onus of Kevin’s death.

“Well,” mused Tolliver when the decision was made, “at least Scanlen won’t wonder where his enemies lie. They’ll all be aboard, praying devoutly that we Fuse.”

Afterward, I’d made my reluctant way to sickbay; my shoulder had progressed from mild throbbing to a persistent gritty ache that left me clammy and clenching my teeth. Dr Romez reproved me for not returning sooner, and administered a painkiller that soon set me right. From my bed, I begged Fath to let me resume work with Harry a day early. I would be on call, he said. If Harry asked for me, I could go. Grumbling at his negligible concession, I drifted to sleep. No, Lethe, he called it. It sounded very grown-up.

In the morning, a grim-faced Mikhael brought me breakfast and gossip. Mr Dakko, calling on old friendships and perhaps dispensing a bribe or two, had slipped aboard a supply shuttle at Centraltown, and lifted off a step ahead of Scanlen’s deacons who meant to detain him for his role in the death of Archbishop Andori.

But Bishop Scanlen was stalking bigger game. He promulgated a list of Corrine Sloan’s “protectors and confederates” that included Mr Dakko, Jerence Branstead, Fath, and to my surprise, me. Whatever offices any of us held were declared vacant, and we were to be sent groundside to Lord God’s justice “forthwith.”

Mr Tolliver, who’d been on the bridge, had ordered the entire transmission classified secret, on the grounds that Scanlen’s writ ran to the planet of Hope Nation, and not to vessels that might be in orbit around it. Neither
Olympiad
’s passengers nor crew were made aware of the proclamation. Of course, the whole ship knew in no time.

Meanwhile, Tommy Yost attained ten demerits and reported for chastisement to Mr Tolliver. I felt more sympathy than I’d expected; my own welts still smarted, and I was embarrassed no end when changing clothes before Fath.

As soon as he and Romez let me, I resumed my place at the outrider’s barrier, though the grav tugged uncomfortably at my graft. I made suggestions to Fath and Tad Anselm when I could.

Whatever mutable cells passed for eyes in Harry’s species must be able to see me through the barrier, but he showed no interest. I was nettled; I’d moved heaven and earth to get back on his detail, lest he be perturbed at my absence.

All afternoon, Fath was terse and preoccupied. I finally realized it was the full gravity that bothered him.

It wasn’t just Fath. Sarah Frand was increasingly moody, as if the outrider had struck some nerve deep within her. Eventually, muttering an apology, she asked to be excused, and trudged to her cabin.

At dinner, we sat with what should be a congenial group. Fath and I, Mr Branstead, Mikhael, two or three of the more pleasant passengers, and Corrine Sloan, whom Fath had, in defiance of public opinion, moved to our table.

Mr Branstead seemed listless and preoccupied. Perhaps he was still recovering from his imprisonment in Centraltown. Only Corrine Sloan seemed gay and animated, almost inexplicably so. Yet Fath responded to her sallies with little more than grunts, and Mik avoided his share of the conversational burden. I did my best to take up the slack, until Mikhael elbowed me rather rudely in the ribs. I favored him with an unceasing glare. After a moment, he said smoothly, “With the Captain’s permission, may we be excused a moment?” Captain’s son or no, he was a middy on public duty.

“Very well.”

“Thank you, sir.” Mik steered me to the hatch.

“What the
hell
was that ab—”

“You oaf, stay out of it. Don’t you know what Corrine’s done?”

I gaped. “I guess not.”

“She’s asked to be set ashore, provided Scanlen rescinds his edict.”

“Edict?”

Mik waved vaguely. “Impeaching Pa. Demanding you and he and Chris Dakko be returned for trial. Pa’s livid. Refused her outright, but she claims she has the right.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” It just slipped out. I’d heard Alex Hopewell say that once, in another life.

“Randy!” He glanced about, saw no one near. “If you had an ounce of sense … Our religious affairs are under close scrutiny; it’s no time for blasphemy. I’ve half a mind to tell Pa.”

“Don’t.” I’d offended Mik, and not wanted to.

“This time.” With a touch of impatience, he pushed me toward our table.

The stewards were bringing dessert, some flaming concoction with a bitter sauce I’d had before. Corrine chatted to Mr Branstead, to the passengers, to anyone who’d listen. Her face was flushed. I stared balefully. I had no mother; if she had her wish, neither would Janey.

“It’s not,” she told Ms Aren, “as if we’re lacking for clothing. So what if fashions are out-of-date? On Hope Nation it’s worse. They see nothing until we bring—”

I said across the table, “Why’d you do it?”

Silence.

“Randy?” Her expression was determinedly pleasant.

Under the table, Mikhael kicked me hard. His eyes were twin lasers. I paid no heed.

“Why ask to go ashore? They’ll burn you.”

“Not necessarily,” she said with seeming calm. “Church law requires—”

The Captain gripped my arm, his fingers a vise.

I ignored him too. “Fath loves you. How can you expect him to let—”

“Shut your mouth this instant!”
Fath’s tone was savage.

A new voice, from above. “Begging the Captain’s pardon …” Midshipman Yost, his uniform crisp, his manner beyond reproach.

Fath hurled his napkin to the starched tablecloth. “What now?”

“Reverend Pandeker asks a word with you.”

“Oh, he does?”

“Yes, sir.” Yost shifted nervously. “Should I not have interrupted? I’m the only officer at our table, and he said …”

Fath glared from me to Yost, threw in Mikhael for good measure. “I don’t want to hear it.” A pause, while he fought the edge in his voice. “Very well, send him over.”

Mikhael blurted, “Here, sir?” He seemed scandalized.

“I’ve nothing to hide. Bring him soon, Mr Yost, before we leave the table.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

In moments he was back, Reverend Pandeker in tow. “Captain, may I present Rev—”

“We’ve met. Dismissed.”

I’d never seen Fath so determined to be rude. Fork arrested halfway to mouth, I watched.

“Well?” Though Pandeker loomed over us, Fath made no suggestion that he sit.

“Thank you for allowing—”

“Yes, and all that. What do you want?”

He glanced about. Mikhael and Mr Branstead pretended to be occupied with food. Corrine watched him calmly. I gaped. The passengers hung on every word. “I’d hoped,” Pandeker said, “for a moment in private.”

“Sorry, that won’t be possible.” Fath’s tone was icy.

“Might we at least observe the amenities?”

“Why, certainly. Reverend Pandeker, may I introduce my fiancée, Corrine Sloan?”

Pandeker’s florid face reddened further.

“Corrine, my dear, the special envoy of the Patriarchs.”

“Good evening, sir. I believe we’ve met.” Her tone was elaborately formal, and infinitely distant.

Fiancée? I was his son; why hadn’t he told me I was to have a stepmother? On the other hand, had he even told
her
? I could imagine nothing more satisfying to throw in this pompous joey’s face, true or no.

“Ms Sloan.” A barely perceptible nod; even so, it seemed to pain the Reverend. His cold eyes focused on Fath. “Now, Captain. I call you that, as you retain de facto command, although de jure—”

I nudged Mik. “What’s that?”

“Shush. Listen.”

“—de jure, you are deposed.”

“Admiralty’s given no such order.” Fath’s tone had grown even more frosty. “And it’s not a subject I’d discuss with
you.
”

“Mr Seafort, I assure you this meeting distresses me even more than yourself. I make one last entreaty: surrender yourself and this—this
woman
to the judgment of Lord God’s sovereign Church and its civil government in Hope Nation. Else I am bound to remind crew and officers that allegiance to an excommunicate jeopardizes their immortal souls.”

Fath merely glared, but Mikhael shot to his feet. “As an officer on
Olympiad,
Reverend, I beg leave to remind you that regardless of your status, incitement to mutiny is a hanging offense.” Mik spoke with careful courtesy, though his voice seethed. “Captain Seafort, it may not be my place to tell him. Nonetheless, it’s my opinion he tries your goodwill.”

BRAVO, MIK! If my new arm were firmly attached, I’d have clapped.

Fath ignored him. “Anything else, Mr Pandeker?”

“Yes. The Patriarchs, in the name of Jesus Christ assembled, have long recognized that the fish who bedevil us are creatures of the Adversary, Satan Himself. That you allow them aboard is intolerable!”

“To whom?”

Pandeker drew himself up. “To the Bishops and congregants of His blessed Reunification Church. To every passenger aboard. To crew and officers alike. In the name of Lord God and His people, I demand you expel them to the outermost depths!”